


Fireflies and Woodsmoke

by ceterisparibus



Series: Prompts! [4]
Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Camping, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, I don't even think I can write pure fluff but I'm gonna try, Karen Page deserves to be spoiled, Matt is a cat, Matt is also a dog, Motion Sickness, Road Trips, S'mores, Swimming, chipmunks, frisbees, not pure fluff I'm sorry I can't help it, pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-05-02 06:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,856
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19193632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceterisparibus/pseuds/ceterisparibus
Summary: Matt surprises Karen with a weekend camping trip in the middle of absolutely nowhere. Cue city boy failing at setting up a tent but being really excited to discover that she brought a frisbee. Cue other wilderness shenanigans as I come up with them.





	1. As Long as We're Together

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ivorynia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ivorynia/gifts).



Karen

It was one of those days when work followed her home. She was curled up on Matt’s couch with her laptop, trying to pin down a lead. When she’d offered to put her investigative skills to work helping Matt and Foggy track down evidence for their cases, she hadn’t expected it to be this… _frustrating_.

It was exciting and satisfying, definitely. But also frustrating.

Plus, there was the stack of documents sitting beside her which the opposing counsel had mailed over— _mailed_. And she was one hundred percent sure it was because they wanted to take advantage of Matt’s blindness by not making the documents accessible. He had some apps for that kind of thing, sure, but the paralegals at Lang and Weber also must’ve waited until they were almost out of toner because the text was faded enough that his apps apparently couldn’t make sense of it. So she was planning on surprising him with a transcription, but that would mean sitting at her computer for several more hours.

On the plus side, he was out patrolling and probably wouldn’t be home until she was done.

 _Home._ She wasn't officially moved in with him, not yet, but her shoes and jacket were by the door and her favorite tea was in his kitchen and she had her own drawer in both the bathroom and the bedroom. It was less than a year after Fisk had been put away for good, and there was a lot they still needed to sort through together...but the operative word was  _together_.

Tonight, however, she resigned herself to the imminent prospect of neither of them would be getting more than an hour or two of sleep. She resolutely fetched herself a fresh cup of hot tea and got back to work.

 

Tried to, anyway. Instead, she woke up with new stiffness in her neck to Matt leaning over the couch, gently pushing her hair out of her face. “Sweetheart?”

Groaning, she rubbed at her eyes until he came into focus. His lip was bleeding, a bruise was blooming across his cheek, and his hair was rumpled like he’d just pulled off his mask. Her eyes automatically swept down his body. Nothing looked broken, although something had ripped at his shirt, leaving a bloody gash across his chest in its wake.

She jerked upright. “You’re hurt.”

“Not really,” he said calmly, and she didn’t need to hear his heartbeat to know he really thought that. “What are you doing on the couch?” One of his hands kept playing with her hair; the other strayed over the sheets of memos and emails that’d been dropped off at the office, now scattered on the couch and the floor from when she’d fallen asleep in the middle of her transcribing. “What’re these?”

“They’re…uh…” She was too tired to come up with a good lie. “They’re all the documents from Lang and Weber.”

“And why are they on our couch?”

“Mm, I don’t know. That’s weird.” She tried to slip off the cushion, but he stopped her.

“Karen.”

“Matt, lemme go. I need to brush my teeth.”

He rolled his eyes but let her past. By the time she’d come out of the bathroom, he’d stacked the papers into something manageable. “I hope I didn’t ruin your meticulous organization.”

“They fell on the floor in a very specific pattern, actually.”

“Whoops.” He wandered over to grab the first aid kit while she filled up two glasses of water in the kitchen. “How much sleep were you planning on getting tonight?”

“How much were _you?_ ” Setting the waters on the table, she plucked the kit from his hands and steered him backwards into the chair. “Shirt.”

“A solid eight hours if you count sleeping through Foggy’s lecture,” he yawned, tugging off his shirt obediently.

“What lecture?”

“For busting up my face right before a deposition.”

She hummed contemplatively. “I think it makes you look intimidating. Bully the witness into cooperating.”

His smile was quick and small, like he didn’t want to stretch the cut on his lip. He stayed quiet as she cleaned the gash on his chest, only speaking when she reached for the stitches. “Tape’ll work.”

She squinted at the injury. Didn’t look like tape would work. “You sure?”

“Positive.” He blinked innocently up at her.

Suspicion niggled in her stomach. “Matt…”

“When’s the last time you did something just for fun?” he interrupted.

Pulling back indignantly, she glared at him. “Are you calling me boring?”

“Never. Just curious.”

Just trying to distract her from arguing about stitches, probably. But of the two of them, he was the expert with first aid. Reluctantly, she taped up the injury before turning her attention to his split lip and bruised cheek. “This morning was fun,” she answered, smirking slowly as heat swept through her at the memory of their earlier activities. They’d skipped breakfast and still been late to work. Foggy punished them by making them sort through the older files that still kind of smelled like a butcher shop.

He smirked back but apparently refused to be distracted. “If you had a couple of days where you didn’t have to do anything or be anywhere, what would you do?”

“Sleep,” she answered before she could think better of it.

He raised his eyebrows but didn’t make any kind of innuendo. Oh, he was taking this seriously. “What else?”

All right, she could play along. She dabbed at the last bit of blood on his lip and started smoothing down his hair, making his eyes flutter closed. The man was actually a cat. “I liked camping as a kid,” she admitted. “Cold nights in a tent, bundled up in sleeping bags, smelling like a campfire.”

His eyes opened incredulously. “What part of that sounds fun at all?”

“Are we talking about _my_ daydream or yours?”

He held up his hands. “Sorry, sorry. Go on.”

“Nope, it’s too late. You’ve ruined it.” She kissed his forehead and closed up the first aid kit. “I’m going to sleep.”

“In a bed that doesn’t smell like smoke,” he pointed out, detouring towards the bathroom.

“City kid,” she muttered under her breath, smiling at his answering laughter. Slipping between silky sheets, she fell asleep to the sound of his shower.


	2. Surprise

When she opened her eyes the next morning, the bed beside her was empty. Strange; she normally woke up first since she took more time getting ready. But as soon as she padded sleepily out into the living room, she saw why.

“Matt, you said you didn’t need stitches!”

He flinched guiltily from where he was sitting on the couch surrounded by bloody gauze. Black stitching crisscrossed halfway through the cut on his chest. “Uh…I just realized it this morning, last night I didn’t think—”

“Don’t give me that.” She stood right in front of him, glaring down with her hands on her hips. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Literally, or…?”

“Matt, I swear.”

He finished the stitches and spread a bandage over them. “Tape is faster. I knew it’d hold through the night and figured I could, ah, fix it in the morning.”

No, he’d figured stitching would take longer and he’d known there was no chance she’d go to bed before he could take care of it himself, so he’d settled for tape just to give her a few extra minutes of sleep. Unbelievable. (Except not at all.)

She sighed. “At least let me finish this.”

“I’ve been doing stitches since I was a kid,” he reminded her.

Yeah, and she was willing to bet that any stitching done by his nine-year-old self for his dad was far superior to anything he did for himself. She held out her hand expectantly. He heaved a sigh like she’d just told him the store was no longer carrying his favorite weird, off-brand cereal, but he passed over the needle and thread.

“So I was thinking,” he said, flexing his arm slightly—in response to the pain or to show off his muscles, she wasn’t sure. “Are you free this weekend?”

“We live and work together, Matt. You know my schedule.”

“I didn’t want to assume. So…can you keep it free? And take tomorrow off?”

She pretended to think about it. Tomorrow was Friday, so whatever he was planning had to be pretty special. “Maybe if I have a really good incentive.”

“Me?” he offered.

“Hmm, I dunno.” Finishing up with his arm, she started cleaning up the excess supplies. “You do this thing where you get super injured and don’t tell me about it. I’m trying to be mad at you.”

“Needing a few stitches is not _super injured_.”

She pulled out her phone. “Say that again for the camera and we’ll see what Foggy thinks.”

But he gently lowered her hand. “I wanna take you camping.”

“You _what?_ ”

"Camping," he said, almost tentatively. "Like when you were a kid."

She hugged him so fiercely that she tore out two of his stitches (not the ones she'd put in, the ones he'd carelessly given himself). Once she recovered from her shock and once she'd fixed his stitches, he provided her with a list of possibilities, locations around New York for bringing RVs or renting cabins or pitching tents. Sometime in the last four hours when he should’ve been sleeping, he’d apparently been doing his homework. And she was excited, she really was, and she’d settle for just about anything as long as it meant two and a half days with him, but none of the sites he’d found were what she’d choose.

Because they were _sites_.

He noticed her hesitation. Obviously. Tipped his head to the side, he studied her in that peculiarly attentive way of his. “What’re you thinking?”

“Have you looked into any spots that are just…nothing?” At his look of confusion, she clarified. “Like, no check-in and costs and people patrolling and all the rules. Just wilderness.”

“I’ll cover the cost,” he said immediately.

She laughed because for some reason she found that unexpectedly sweet. “I’m not worried about the cost, idiot.” Maybe she shouldn’t call the person offering to buy her a camping vacation an idiot. “It’s just that going out in the middle of nowhere is more _fun_.”

“…Oh,” he said in a very specific voice that told her he knew exactly what she was talking about. “Yeah. We can do that.”

 

They got to work on time and Foggy agreed with Karen that stitches did indeed mean “super injured” and Matt argued with them under his breath while Foggy and Karen ignored him in favor of debating the merits of the everything bagel. Foggy liked it; Karen thought it was an affront to bagels; Matt was still muttering about how he’d only needed “like three stitches,” which was a gross underestimation anyway.

After work, she and Matt split up to collect supplies. She sent him to get a tent, figuring he’d hone in on the smell or textile strength or something useful like that, and she appointed herself the task of gathering snacks because Matt’s food fell neatly into three categories: protein bars, takeout, and homecooked meals that required a perfectly clean kitchen. But in the middle of loading a shopping cart with marshmallows and chips and hot chocolate in little packets that Matt would definitely hate, she wandered into the toy isle and picked up a frisbee.

See, she’d discovered the perfect middle-of-nowhere patch of forest about ten hours away that, according to Google maps, was close to a lake and a field and she couldn’t help wondering when was the last time Matt had gotten to run around and chase things that weren’t…well, knives or bullets.

Back at the apartment, she packed up all the food, along with plenty of blankets and jackets, and buried the frisbee deep in her own bag where he wouldn’t accidentally find it. Then she sat cross-legged on the couch with her laptop, determined to get as much work done as possible while she still had internet. He got home shortly afterward, balancing his cane and a long cardboard box bearing their brand-new tent.

“Well?” she prompted. “Think it’ll survive a ninja attack?”

“Probably if I’m defending it, yeah.” He sniffed the air. “Based on how much food you got, I assume you’re prepping for an apocalypse?”

“You can bring your protein bars if you insist, but you have to at least _try_ the stuff I found. It tastes better if you eat it over a campfire, I promise. It’s a rule.”

He pawed through one of the bags, wrinkling his nose at the crinkling of plastic. “Because smoke ruins taste buds?”

“Because smoke from a campfire has magical properties,” she said loftily. “You’ll learn.”

Abandoning his inspection, he walked over to the couch and kissed her. “I look forward to it.”

“Mmm.” She sighed into the kiss, only to pull back. “Quit it. I’m working.”

“Very good point,” he murmured, chasing her lips. “However, have you considered that you could instead be doing other things?”

She put her hand on his chest. “ _Matt_. We’ll have all weekend.”

With an exaggerated huff, he went to get his own laptop and earbuds, settling down next to her and ostensibly listening to different cases. But from the way his eyes kept drifting towards all their camping supplies, she didn’t think he was focusing very well.

A little thrill raced through her. He was doing this for her, technically. But it was cute to see him so excited, especially because she was determined to make sure he enjoyed the trip every bit as much as she already knew she would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I'm sorry we're still not actually camping yet! I promise we'll get there!
> 
> Second, I spent like twenty seconds looking for forests in New York and then quit. So I have no idea if a wilderness place like the one they're going to a) exists, and b) allows people to just sneak in and live there, but I'm basing the (incoming) feels of this fic off my own memories of camping in the middle of nowhere so...bear with me.
> 
> Third...okay, there's still a tiny bit of whump here. Matt can't help it, I can't help it, we're a mess.
> 
> Fourth, I'm already in love with all of your comments. You guys are the best!


	3. Adventure Awaits!

She wanted to murder his stupid talking alarm, which had yanked her unapologetically from a dream about Ellison offering to give her back her job at the _Bulletin_. Not that she didn’t love being a private investigator, but since the fallout with Fisk, it still felt like she and Ellison hadn’t really…reconciled.

And after losing Ben, Ellison had become, strangely, the closest thing she had to family besides Matt and Foggy.

It didn’t matter; just a dream.

Matt rolled over and got out of bed, shuffling across to the closet to get dressed. She stayed under the silk sheets a bit longer, savoring the juxtaposition of the anticipation buzzing in her chest and the heavy stillness of a predawn morning. Waking up early to leave for a trip was never fun, but _being awake_ early to leave for a trip was something special.

Now bundled in a hoodie and jeans, Matt wordlessly passed out of the bedroom and she heard him fumbling around the kitchen. She whispered her thanks when she heard the coffee machine start up. He didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure whether Daredevil’s late nights or his own personality was at fault, but he was the furthest thing from a morning person.

Finally, she got up, dressed, and started helping him load up her car, stealing sips of scalding coffee between trips. They still hadn’t really spoken by the time they were officially on the road, she because she didn’t want to break the magical quiet and he probably because his brain wasn’t on yet. He looked happy, though, with his head resting against the window and his hand idly touching her right arm. She was willing to bet he didn’t realize he was doing it.

She accelerated onto the highway, taking full advantage of the thin traffic to go a bit faster than normal. “Tell me if there’s a cop nearby.”

“What, you expect me to smell them?” he asked sleepily, not opening his eyes.

“I just don’t see the point of superpowers if you can’t avoid speed traps.”

He simply wriggled down in his seat until he was in a more comfortable position, mumbling that maybe he would've figured it out if he'd gotten his abilities after he knew how to drive.

“Hey, no,” she protested. “You’re not allowed to sleep in the car because then you’ll be awake until four in the morning.”

“I’m always awake until four in the morning.”

And she was determined for him to experience the wonders of a full eight hours, but she knew him well enough to frame the issue around her own well-being. “Not this weekend. We’re sharing a tent, which means we’re sharing circadian rhythms. Deal with it.”

With an exaggerated groan, he forced himself into a semi-upright position, both looking and sounding a lot like Kevin when asked to do something small but annoying.

She quickly shoved that thought away. “So if you didn’t grow up going camping, what did you and your dad do for fun?”

“Uh…boxing, mostly.” A small, wistful smile spread across his face. “I’d watch his matches, obviously, but sometimes we’d go to other matches and he’d talk to me about the techniques the guys were using in the ring. Way better commentary than the announcers.”

“But you never, like, went on vacation?”

“Overnight? Nah, couldn’t really afford it. But he always found fun stuff for me to do. Even after…” He waved vaguely at his face. “He was pretty creative with finding things I could do without sight. One time he even took me to some kind of knitting club.”

She choked on air. “A _knitting_ club?”

“Yeah, we didn’t really fit in,” he said easily. “They kicked us out because my dad kept swearing every time he made a mistake. But I made a flimsy scarf and gave it to my grandmother, so.”

She was still trying (and failing) to picture Battlin’ Jack and his son at a knitting club. Keeping her eyes on the highway, she listened as he talked about other small adventures, including an unfortunate trip to the zoo before he had control of his senses. Eventually, they turned onto a smaller road that curved along a mountain. The sun had fully risen by this point, warming them, but Matt had fallen silent. She glanced over to see that his eyes were closed again, but he didn’t look peaceful. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just…” He breathed in slowly through his nose. “Cars aren’t, uh, my favorite thing. Especially with…winding roads.”

She hadn’t thought of that. “Would anything help? The AC?”

Shaking his head, he wet his lips. “Tastes like metal.” He leaned back in his seat and out of the corner of her eye she noticed him swallowing tightly. “How far?”

“About an hour still. Do we need to stop?”

He looked truly miserable. “Could we?”

“No problem,” she said immediately. “I wanna stretch my legs anyway.” She pulled over at the first available opportunity and he stumbled out, tilting his head back and inhaling cool mountain air.

It smelled sweet and fresh to her; she could only imagine how much better it must smell to him. Grabbing a water bottle, she locked the car and got out to see him standing in front of a fence built to keep sightseers from tripping over a drop off. The cliff plunged beneath them to a river roaring below.

Beautiful.

She walked over to join him. “I wish you could see this place.”

The rigid line of his jaw was slowly relaxing. “I bet it’s incredible.”

“Water?” she offered.

He hesitated, then nodded. “Please.”

She made him drink about half of it, then reached up to brush back his sweaty hair, resting the back of her hand against his forehead. “Are you sick, or just…carsick?”

Blushing a little, he ducked his head. “The latter. I’m fine.”

“Well, you picked a good spot to stop.” She slipped her hand into his and ran her thumb in circles over his skin, hoping he’d find it soothing. “The trees are extra green so close to the water. I swear I’m looking at twenty different shades.”

“Of green?”

“Uh-huh. And the water’s white, it’s foaming so much. There’s a rock out there in the middle of the river, big enough that part of it’s actually dry. If I could fly, I’d go sit on it.” She squeezed his hand. “What’s it like for you?”

He grinned slightly. “Loud. Hard to hear over the river, but if I concentrate…there’s definitely something big moving on the other side. A deer?”

“Can’t see anything.”

“Well, me neither. But it smells kind of like a cow, so I’m _guessing_ it’s not a bear.”

“How do you know what cows smell like?” she asked, heading back towards the car.

“An ill-advised field trip at the orphanage.”

“I want to know everything about this.”

Settling into the passenger seat, he spent the next hour earnestly recounting a catastrophic field trip that somehow involved an angry goose, three escaped bunnies, and about twenty orphans and four horrified nuns who accidentally observed the mating rituals of pigs.

She was giggling when she pulled off the road and parked on a patch of dirt that was mostly hidden from the road by a boulder. She didn’t want to advertise that the car was left behind, but she also expected Matt would hear if anything went wrong.

“Okay,” she said softly, sliding the keys out of the ignition. “We’re here.” She kept her eyes on Matt, not wanting to miss a second as he stepped out into the forest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Great news! We made it into actual woodland!  
> *whispers apologies to Matt for making him suffer during the ride*  
> *hopes you enjoy all enjoy Matt suffering as much as I do*  
> *promises minimal suffering in future chapters*


	4. Whole New World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *accidentally posted this twice, so sorry, my computer glitched. At least, that's the story I'm sticking with....

She was used to seeing him against a backdrop of manufactured civilization. An office bookshelf, a courtroom, Josie’s pool table, or the blinking lights of the city when she waited for him on the rooftop at night. This was unlike any of that. He seemed smaller and somehow softer under the thick pines reaching for the sky all around him. Slinging her backpack on, she balanced the tent bag on her left shoulder. “What do you think?”

He wasn’t wearing his glasses (tucked into his backpack in case they ran into another human being—which was not the plan, but he felt better knowing they were handy), so she could see his eyes narrow as he concentrated. “It’s…loud, but in a really quiet way.”

“Yeah?”

“Lots of birds and insects and animals. But it’s all…muted.” His head snapped in a different direction. “Except whatever that was.”

“A bird?” she guessed.

“Hmm. Probably.” He tilted his head as if glancing around. “So, which way are we going?”

“Well, we can find a spot closer to the road here, but I thought you’d rather hike in so you don’t have to hear and smell the traffic. Right?”

“It’s fine, I’m used to it.”

She snorted. “Okay, Matt, if we’re gonna do this properly, I apparently have to establish some ground rules. For instance, just because you _can_ deal with something doesn’t mean you _should_. So would you rather hike deeper in or stop here?”

He smiled sheepishly. “Hike.”

“Excellent.” That was what she wanted to do anyway. They divided up the rest of the gear and, once she’d locked the car, she went over to stand next to him. He could obviously get around fine in Hell’s Kitchen, but that was pavement. “Do you, um, want me to lead you?”

“I can manage.” He flashed her an impish grin. “And although I don’t _have_ to, I’d like to try.”

Perfect. “Let’s do this.”

Readjusting his grip on one of the coolers, he stepped deeper into the forest, stopping when he brushed against a berry-laden shrub. “What makes a good camping spot? What am I looking for?”

“I was thinking we could go towards the lake. So we’ll wander in that direction, and stop if we notice anywhere that’s extra shady and doesn’t smell like the home of a bunch of animals. Other than that, just be on the lookout for…whatever feels right.”

“Whatever feels right. Got it.” He set off, leading the way into the undergrowth. She was so used to him moving catlike wherever he was that it was startling how loud he was at first; from his expression, he was a bit thrown by all the noise too as he snapped pretty much every twig in his path. But it only took a few minutes before something happened, maybe his senses recalibrated, she wasn’t sure, but she abruptly realized that he was even quieter than she was. Ridiculous.

“This way,” he announced suddenly, veering a bit to the right. “It smells fresher.” Finally, he held some branches back so she could step ahead of him into a small clearing. The smell of pine, the needles under her feet, the fact that she couldn’t see more than twenty yards into the thick, tangled forest—it was exactly what she wanted.

“This is it,” she declared.

“It _feels right?_ ” he asked, eyes bright with amusement. “You know, your criteria are pretty subjective for a journalist, Miss Page.”

She breathed in deeply. “Right now, I’m not a journalist.”

“What are you, then?”

Smiling slowly, she watched his face. “Someone enjoying the thoughtful vacation put together by someone who loves her.”

He looked simultaneously awkward and pleased with himself as he shrugged, setting the cooler down in the middle of the clearing.

“Well?” she prompted. “First impression.”

He turned in a circle. “I like it. Do you know how nice it is not to have to hear any conversations except ours? Like… _any_.”

“And it smells amazing, right?”

“If you discount the dung, sure.”

“Excuse me,” she said indignantly, “but half of Hell’s Kitchen smells like piss, and you love that place.”

“It’s endearing,” he insisted. “We’ve all gotten drunk and pissed in an alley before.”

She blinked. “Uh, no, Matt. We haven’t.”

His face did something comical before he cleared his throat. “Motion to strike my previous comment from the record.”

“Motion _absolutely_ denied,” she said gleefully.

“The _point_ is that this place smells half like nice plants and half like dirty animals.” Guilt flashed across his face as he said it. “But it’s not that bad,” he went on quickly. “Everything’s just kind of…pungent. I’ll get used to it.”

Maybe he would, or maybe she’d make him fall in love with animals until he found them just as endearing as drunks in alleys.

“Besides.” He stepped smoothly forward, impossibly soundless despite all the twigs and pine needles under their feet, and kissed her. “This is about you.”

“Us,” she corrected.

He looked like he wanted to argue, but that would fly in the face of his goal of Making Karen Happy, so he wisely kept his mouth shut.

She gave him an approving nod, trusting he’d sense it. Then they made one more trip back to the car for a second cooler, camping chairs, and other miscellaneous items, dropping all the stuff in a pile in the clearing to be sorted and turned into their temporary home. “You get firewood, I set up the tent?” she suggested.

“No, no. The whole point of this is for you to relax and you already had to drive the whole way here. I’ll take care of it.”

Well, that sounded nice in theory. Shrugging, she opened up a chair under a tree and dug a book out of her bag, but before she could settle down, she looked up to see him still standing in the middle of the soon-to-be campsite.

He noticed her staring. “Uh…one question. How exactly does one _get_ firewood?” He cocked his head like he expected to smell his way over to a cart or a stand selling pre-cut logs for five dollars each. "Do you just...grab wood off the ground?"

“New plan,” she decided. “I’ll get the firewood, you set up the tent.” Since he’d bought it, she assumed he knew how to handle it.

His agreement sounded confident, so she struck off into the tangled woods, alert for any good pieces. She started with grabbing bigger pieces of deadwood that would burn longer, breaking branches off fallen trees here and there. The best pieces were thick and covered in flaky gray bark that stuck to her shirt. When she couldn’t carry any more, she headed back to the camp to find Matt standing over meticulously-grouped tent components, a frustrated look on his face.

She wiped clinging bits of bark off her shirt. “How’s it coming?”

“Good,” he said, an automatic response.

She tried to keep the laughter from her voice. “Well, lemme know if you need any help.” With that, she went out again, swiping up deadwood of different sizes so they’d have enough for both nights. When she got back to the camp, he’d successfully fit…two pieces together, a long pole and a smaller corner piece.

“How’s it coming?” she asked.

“I’m making progress.” He waved the pole as evidence.

“Yeah, I can see that.”

He sighed. “I can _hear_ you rolling your eyes.”

“Liar. Need a hand?”

“No.”

“I could at least read you the directions.”

“No, I’ve got it.”

“If this tent falls on us in the middle of the night…”

“It won’t.”

“Fine, I believe in you.” She went out one last time, this time for the fun part: tinder and kindling. She made a wide circle around the camp so she wouldn’t leave too big of an impact, plucking up leaves, dead pine needles, and small, dry sticks. She really wanted some cattail fluff, which she and Kevin spent hours burning when they were kids, but she’d take what she could get.

When she got back to Matt, the tent was mostly upright but she could tell with a single glance that he’d put some of the pieces together in the wrong place; the frame listed severely to one side. He turned to her with round, puppylike eyes. “I think it’s defective.”

“I think it is,” she said seriously.

“Wait, really?”

She laughed. “No, but come on.” She grabbed the instructions that he’d left stuffed in the bag. “We’ll do it together.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter = frisbee chapter!


	5. Puppy Love

They had a pretty nice setup, if she did say so herself. There was the tent tucked under a spectacularly large pine tree, offering some shade even during the day depending on the angle of the sun. They’d dug out the fire pit a few feet away and positioned the two coolers close enough for easy access but not close enough for the fire to defeat the purpose.

Now for the fun part. Once they’d emptied most of the contents of their backpacks into the tent, they filled hers back up with water bottles and sunscreen (Matt made a face but kept any objections to the smell to himself). Then she led them west based off her memory of google maps and a strong confidence that Matt could get them back to the campsite if she got them too lost.

“Where are we going again?” he asked, running his fingers over some leaves as they walked. His other hand was holding hers.

“It’s a surprise.”

“Do I get a hint?”

“Nope.”

“Can I guess?”

“Go ahead, but I can neither confirm nor deny.”

He made a show of sniffing the air—or maybe it wasn’t a show, maybe that was how he’d interact with the world if he didn’t have to keep up appearances. “I smell grass ahead? Not this stuff,” he added, gesturing at the splotches of undergrowth around them. “Actual grass.”

“If you didn’t have to go around pretending you didn’t have heightened senses, would you sniff things more often?”

He looked affronted. “I’m not a dog, Karen. And I’m always smelling things.”

“I mean, like, in such a…” She was going to say _exaggerated way_ , but that sounded rude even in her head, so she shut up. She’d just watch to see how he sniffed other things. Because what were vacations for if not using the new environment to collect data on your loved ones?

But he didn’t do anything very interesting until they reached the field, where he stopped dead at the border where the trees gave way to an expanse of open grass. The blades undulated in the wind, rippling like a pale green ocean. “Okay, what is this?”

She stared at him. “What do you mean, what is this? It’s a field.”

“A field,” he repeated dubiously.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never been a field before.”

“Not one this…big.” Blinking, he took a step forward. The wind ruffled his hair and pulled at his shirt, which Karen appreciated. “What do you do in them?”

She shrugged. “Hang out. Pick flowers. Sing, maybe, if no one’s around.”

His eyes lit up. “You sing in fields?”

“I mean…sometimes, yeah. Not since I was little.” She shook her head warningly. “I’m not singing for you.”

His smug expression told her he didn’t believe that for a second.

“I brought you here for a different reason, actually.” She pulled her hand out of his and shed her backpack. “See, _some_ people like to run in fields. It’s not parkour, I know, but I couldn’t help wondering when’s the last time you’ve been able to run around in daylight, in the open, and no one’s around for miles, so…”

He cocked his head. “You brought me here to run?”

“If you want.” She nudged him. “Just try it. And be careful of your stitching. And whatever else is probably broken.”

Shooting her a dirty look, he jogged forward a few steps, like he was testing it, and then a grin broke across his face. Without warning, he was _off_.

She stared after him in shock. Obviously, she knew he was athletic. She knew he was strong and quick and she knew from the couple of times he’d invited her to watch him parkour that he loved running, jumping, being free. But she’d never seen him with this kind of sheer, wild _abandon_ before.

He’d already almost reached the opposite edge of the field, so far away that he was like a miniature action figure of himself. Knowing she didn’t have much time before he came back, she dug the frisbee out of her backpack and threw it, taking no small amount of pride in its perfect trajectory through the air.

His hand snapped back to catch it before he turned around. She couldn’t see his expression from this distance, but she saw him turn it over in his hands before he yelled back at her, “IS THIS A FRISBEE?”

“Yep,” she answered, voice barely raised. The only reason it was raised it all was because of how supremely weird it felt to talk at a normal volume to someone at this distance.

“OKAY, BUT WHY?”

“I thought you might wanna play with it.”

A pause. Then: “I AM NOT A DOG, KAREN.”

“Agree to disagree,” she muttered, grinning as he threw it back. She caught it, even though he’d thrown it hard enough that the plastic stung her hands, and launched it back. Not at him, though. She threw it about twenty yards to his right.

He stood still for a moment, probably glaring at her although he was too far away for it to be obvious, but then he took off after the flying disc, catching it easily in one hand mid-leap.

“Nice!” she called.

Something about the cocky way he threw it back at her told her he thought she was too easily impressed, so she hurled it even farther away, far enough that he had to sprint and dive to catch it. He rolled in the grass and hopped up, laughing. At her, at himself, at the whole world.

“YOU WANNA RUN FOR IT?” he shouted.

Sure she did, but she was just gonna look like an idiot compared to him. She nodded anyway.

She saw him cock his head. “WHAT?”

So his senses couldn’t pick up that kind of subtle gesture, at least not at this distance. She filed that little fact away. “I nodded!”

His response was to toss the frisbee back her direction, but this time it didn’t float unerringly toward her. She darted after it, but she was _not_ in the mood for grass stains, so she didn’t dive for it and was just a bit too slow to catch it before it skidded through the grass.

“I’VE NEVER SEEN YOU RUN,” Matt commented at full volume from across the field.

“You’ve never seen me do anything,” she retorted. “Do a flip this time.”

He didn’t even bother protesting that he wasn’t some kind of circus act; instead, he obligingly flipped forward where he was standing, landing neatly on his feet and catching the frisbee in his hand like it’d been destined to land there.

He was so cool, and she didn’t mind telling him so every once in a while.

 

About half an hour later, he finally jogged back to her, the frisbee dangling from his hand. The sun was high in the sky and his skin was flushed pink from exertion. “That was awesome. Where’d you learn to throw like that?”

“My brother and his friends growing up,” she explained lightly, taking the disc and slipping it into her backpack.

His whole body kind of twitched like he couldn’t decide whether to say anything about the fact that she’d brought up her brother. Even after she’d told him the truth about Kevin, she didn’t really talk about him, not even with Matt. He didn’t ask, and she couldn’t decide if she wished he would. For now, his eyes flickered over her like he was reading her, but when he spoke, all he said was, “Well, any time you want to practice your technique, I’d be happy to help.”

She raised her eyebrows. “In all those public parks in New York? Not likely.”

“I’ll wear a disguise.”

“So you’ll admit you _really_ liked it.”

He grinned sheepishly. “Yeah.”

“Hmm.” She reached up to pet his sweaty, wind-ruffled hair. “Good boy.”

“ _Hey_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this fic is so indulgent plz forgive me


	6. The Feel of You

Since there weren’t really showers, there was only one thing for him to do after running around in a field like that. “Well?” she prompted, squeezing his hand. “What do you think?”

Standing where the forest met the beach at the lake, he breathed in deeply, tilting his head in different directions. “Not sure. It’s…a lot to take in.”

“Thought you’ve been to the beach before?”

“Yeah, as a kid. Not with my dad, though. The nuns. It was an ocean, so the water was… _moving_ more, and I was barely in control of my senses, and everything was loud and cluttered and there were food carts selling these horrible hot dogs…”

“Ew.”

“Yeah. It wasn’t pleasant. The nuns wouldn’t allow me to go in the water anyway. They thought swimming under the influence of blindness was risky.” He pulled his shirt over his head, heading towards the water. “You coming?”

“I thought I’d just sunbathe for a bit.” But she still trailed curiously after him, letting go of his hand when they reached the edge so he could step in without her. “What’s that like for you?”

He paused, taking her question seriously. She _loved_ that about him, and she loved him even more for sharing something vulnerable when he said, “Honestly, it was pretty overwhelming at first.”

“Did you know how to swim before you got your…abilities?” He always scowled when she or Foggy called them superpowers.

“Yeah, my dad threw me in a pool when I was like three. Learned pretty quick.” That sounded kind of awful, but he was grinning and there was nothing but affection in his voice, so it must’ve been a good memory. “But relearning after my abilities developed was…not so fun.” A chagrinned expression stole across his face. “Possibly because Stick thought the best way to incentivize me to control my senses under water was by tying my hands together.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Well, I kept trying to cover my ears because of the pressure change,” he explained matter-of-factly.

A tirade against Stick was on the tip of her tongue, but she knew he’d handle that about as well as she’d handle his tirade against her dad. (He’d tried that once, like hearing a diatribe against him would help. It hadn’t.) So she kept the subject firmly lighthearted. “So what’s it like for you now?”

“I can hear _so much_.” He waded deeper in. “And I can feel _everything_.”

Okay, she could definitely see how that would be overwhelming in the beginning. Especially when you added Stick to the mix. “Feel?” she asked curiously.

“All the currents, and the water melding around whatever it touches.” The water was up to his chest now; he turned around to face her. “It’s kind of like…” He tipped his head thoughtfully to the side. “A 3D printer in all directions? Does that make sense?”

“Sort of. So, what, you can sense shapes better?”

He was grinning now. “Yeah. I feel all the contours of everything around me when I’m underwater. Normally, I can’t sense that much detail all at once no matter how hard I focus.”

“Well, don’t let me keep you,” she said, dropping the towel on the sand behind her.

“Have fun getting sunburnt!” With that, he ducked his head under the water.

She was about to lie down and do exactly that, except that she was stuck thinking about what he’d said about how unusual it was to get so much detail at one time. And she really hadn’t planned on swimming, but, well, the bikini she was wearing didn’t leave much to the imagination. It was one thing for him to run his hands over her body, but what if in the lake he’d be able to sense her in a totally new way?

He was still underwater, but the second she dipped her toe in, his head popped back up. “You’re coming in?”

“Mmm, I’m thinking about it,” she said teasingly.

Despite everything he’d just said, he didn’t seem to grasp the implications. “Okay,” he said simply, plunging back under the surface again.

Smirking slightly to herself, she walked in until the water was up to her hips, then leaned forward so her body could rest on the surface. She swam forward to the spot where he’d disappeared, kicking rapidly to keep herself afloat and squinting. He was a little further out, where the water was deep enough that he had room to really move. And he was _moving_ : arcing his body and doing little corkscrews like he wanted to sense everything from every angle.

Taking a deep breath, she stopped kicking and let herself sink underneath the water, and opened her eyes.

She hated having her eyes open underwater. Lake water didn’t sting like chlorine, but the thought was still kind of creepy. Still, it was absolutely worth it to see his shadowy form freeze, head snapping her direction. He swam closer until he could hover in front of her, holding almost perfectly still. Then he reached out, placing one hand unerringly on the curve of her waist.

Her skin tingled.

But she didn’t actually swim that much and holding her breath was not one of her strengths, so she kicked up out of the water.  He resurfaced an instant later, blinking the water from his eyes, mouth slightly open like a fish.

She laughed, pushing her dripping hair out of her face. “See something you like?”

“Karen, you’re…” He drifted closer, one hand cupping the side of her neck while the other settled back on her hip, kicking lightly as he treaded water to keep them both afloat. “I didn’t, uh…wow. I didn’t expect that.”

“Can you see me?” she whispered.

He kissed her so, so gently. “Everything all at once,” he whispered back.

“Come on, then.” Bracing her hands on his shoulders, she pushed him back down and he surged closer, mouth finding hers immediately. And kissing underwater had some obvious logistical difficulties, but she didn’t mind the limitations to the kiss, not with the way her body lit up everywhere he touched her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is so short! It's been a weird week and I'm getting back into the swing of things. I hope you liked it!


	7. Warm Our Hearts

They dried off in the sun and headed back to the camp as the sun slid lazily across the sky overhead. Between their early start, the hot sun on their skin, and the vague sense of being waterlogged, they were ready to curl up and do nothing much in particular for the rest of the day. Mostly, Karen read while Matt listened to an audiobook, both pausing once in a while to exchange comments, until dusk began settling over the forest.

“Wanna learn how to start a fire?” she asked, crouching beside the small pit.

“With how many accidental arsonists Foggy and I have defended, maybe not.”

She threw him a dirty look, ignoring the fact that he couldn’t see it, but he came over and sat cross-legged beside her anyway, so she didn’t start in on her various counterarguments. “We’re gonna go with the log cabin campfire,” she decided. “It makes lots of hot coals for s’mores.”

His lips twitched with amusement. “There are names for different kinds of campfires?”

“Camping is a very serious hobby, Murdock.” She laid two larger logs parallel in the pit with a gap between them, then added two more layers across, creating a cubed shaft in the center which she filled with kindling. Then she reached for her matches.

“Hang on.” He put his hand over hers. “What did you just do?”

“Can’t you tell?”

He frowned slightly in concentration. “Not really. I know you built something, but it’s all the same temperature and scent, so it’s hard to tell specifics.”

She blinked in surprise. His senses still seemed so infallible, it was easy to forget that he was actually blind. “I just stacked wood in a grid and put kindling in the middle.”

He tilted his head. “And now you light it?”

“Unless you’d like to do the honors.”

Grinning, he accepted the match she held out, which sparked the first time he swiped it over one of the logs. He held the match to the kindling until the flames caught, quickly spreading over the logs until the small pit was filled with flames.

They cooked hot dogs over the fire (high-quality hot dogs that Matt actually deemed edible) for dinner, although Matt didn’t bother with the Doritos she snacked on. Since she couldn’t really get the powder off her fingers, she didn’t blame him. The real excitement, of course, was for s’mores.

She pulled out a back of Hershey’s milk chocolate, but he grabbed her wrist. “Can I make a suggestion?”

He knew better than to get between her and chocolate. “If you make it quick.”

Stepping smoothly past her, he reached into the cooler and felt around without looking until he emerged with something small wrapped in what looked like a thousand shopping bags. “See,” he began, peeling the bags apart, “I figured you’d settle for something like that, and if that’s part of the tradition then fine, but I also thought if we’re gonna make s’mores we should do it _right_.” With a flourish, he pulled out a bag of Ghirardelli chocolate squares with various fillings.

“I love you,” she breathed.

His grin was a _bit_ too soft for him to pretend it didn’t mean something to him when she said that—even though he’d had plenty of chances to get used to it by now. She still remembered the first time she’d told him she loved him. After she and Matt and Foggy had restarted the law firm, after they’d won a couple cases. She and Matt had been spending a late night together at his place, when he’d heard…she didn’t even remember now. Something. And he’d looked at her like it was up to her whether he left or stayed. She’d told him to go, so he’d gone and saved whoever needed saving, and when he got back she hadn’t let him apologize. Instead, they’d picked up right where they left off.

He’d said the words casually in the middle of getting her tea, but she could tell from the way his eyes flitted nervously around her face that he’d been building up the courage to say it. She’d gotten up to stand in front of him and put his hand over her heart when she said the words back.

Now he had a caramel-and-sea-salt chocolate square waiting between graham cracker halves so she could press the s’more together the instant her marshmallow reached the exact level of toasted she wanted. It burned the tip of her tongue and marshmallow stuck to her lips, but it was perfect.

“What kind do you want?” she asked, mouth full.

He pawed through the bag. “Which one has raspberry filling?”

Humming, she swallowed the last bite— _perfect_ —and got up to find the chocolate square he wanted. Then she followed his example by getting all the parts of the s’more ready, sitting beside him while he held his marshmallow-laden prong over the coals until the marshmallow turned into a gooey mess.

“It’s gonna fall off,” she warned.

“It’s not.”

“It’s gonna fall off and you’ll have to start over.”

He just raised his eyebrows at her.

“Who’s the expert here?” she demanded.

“At camping? You. At physics? Me.”

“Roasting marshmallows isn’t _physics_.”

He kept his confident expression aimed her direction as he rotated his prong just in time to keep the marshmallow from sliding off.

“Is it terrible that I hope it falls in the fire now?” she grumbled.

“You’d sacrifice my dessert just to prove a point? Brutal, Miss Page.” Half the marshmallow stretched away, gravity pulling it towards the coals.

“Matt, _your marshmallow_.”

He flipped the prong over at the last possible second, causing the stretched-out marshmallow to fold over itself. “I hear your heart beating. Calm down.”

“This is stressful,” she protested.

Smirking, he finally, _finally_ withdrew the prong so she could press the rest of the s’more around the marshmallow. “It had to be perfect.”

“Clearly.” But she couldn’t resist asking, “Can I have a bite?”

He hesitated, looking genuinely torn, before offering his s’more to her. And, all right, it was by far the best s’more she’d ever had. Not that she was about to admit as much.

“It’s decent,” she said primly.

He just laughed and finished the rest of it off even though she was tempted to ask for more. Karen settled for just pulling the bag of chocolate closer, nibbling on a raspberry-filled square.

“Karen?” he said suddenly.

“Yeah?”

“What’s the fire like?”

She looked sideways at him. “It’s hot.”

“I know that. I mean…” His head tilted. “I can’t see it. Unless you describe it to me.”

She blinked, taken back to an Indian restaurant and a ceiling dripping with glowing chili peppers. She’d thought, looking back after she'd learned about his senses, that he’d just been using a line. Hadn't he had a better idea of what that restaurant was like than she did?

But…even if he’d known from the heat or sound of electricity that there were lights strung all over the ceiling, he wouldn’t have realized the lights were chili peppers. And he definitely wouldn’t have realized how the colors were all tangled together.

Maybe it hadn’t just been a line.

She leaned against his shoulder, snuggling closer for warmth as the sun dipped behind the mountains. “So, my favorite thing about fires is that the flames keep moving. It’s like there’s something living in them, you know? Trying to escape up into the sunset.”

“Escape?”

“The flames flicker like they don’t want to be caught. But the coals are steady. Consistent. Glowing slowly, not flickering. Like whatever’s living in them is happy to stay put.”

“Are you?” he asked softly. “Happy.”

She breathed him in, his scent mingling with woodsmoke. “Yeah, Matt. I’m happy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not paid by Ghirardelli or in any way affiliated with them. I just love their chocolate.
> 
> Real talk, though. I'm not actually a big s'mores person so, I mean, I THINK I wrote this correctly but like...explain to me the value of s'mores? They're just sticky?


	8. That Special Time at 3am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not camping unless you have to wander around looking for a place to pee in the dark, I don't make the rules.

In her dream, she was in the forest in Vermont where her family used to camp. It was some kind of reunion; she and Keven were there, all grown up. But she suspected it was a dream because Mom was there too.

But she didn’t want to wake up.

Dad was laughing, he was happy, and Mom was teasing him, and Kevin was throwing pebbles at a tree, trying to hit a certain crack in the bark. Matt was throwing things with him; he was more accurate than Kevin.

Matt was there, and her whole family loved him, and he loved them.

She was standing off to the side, more an observer of the gathering than a participant, but she didn’t mind.

In fact, she kind of needed to pee. But when she turned around to find a private spot, she woke up to a cold tent with Matt beside her.

Karen stared up into the darkness around her. Normally, dreaming about her family intact left her with a heavy sadness for a way of life gone forever. Instead, she felt almost happy.

Except that she really did need to pee. Wriggling a little, she tried to get enough space in the sleeping bag to crawl out. But she’d only emerged about halfway from the cocoon of blankets before Matt rolled over, his arm falling heavily across her butt.

She grunted. After lying there for a couple seconds, she resumed wriggling.

His eyes opened and he mumbled something indecipherable.

“Shh, go back to sleep.”

“You going somewhere?” he whispered, sitting up.

“Bathroom.”

“Oh, okay.” He yawned, stretched. “I’ll come with you.”

She felt around in the dark for her shoes. “Kind of a one-person job, actually.”

“Yeah, but it’s late.” He was already untangling himself from the blankets. “Or early. Whatever.”

“So?”

“So…something could be out there.”

She stared at him. Tried to, anyway. Couldn’t really see anything. “Do you hear something?”

“Lots of things.”

“Anything _dangerous?_ ”

He hesitated.

“Squirrels are not dangerous,” she reminded him.

“Could you just let me come with you?”

Since he was pulling on his own shoes now, she didn’t see the point in arguing. Besides, her situation was getting a bit urgent. “Fine, just hurry up.”

Yawning, he dragged himself out of the tent ahead of her, but she quickly took the lead, since she lacked any confidence that he knew what to look for in terms of outdoor bathrooms for individuals without certain…anatomical advantages.

Once she was done, they started to walk back more slowly, giving her the chance to really appreciate how quiet the forest always was at night. Hard to believe he could hear anything so worrying. She slipped her hand into his, wishing he could see the stars glittering so high up ahead. “So do you really think your senses will somehow miss a hungry bear stalking me?”

His steps were silent—unlike hers, which thumped and seemed to break every twig within a mile. Infuriating. “Sorry. I was being stupid.”

That really didn’t answer the question. “I thought it was chivalrous,” she said lightly. “Seriously, though. Was something wrong?”

“Ugh,” he muttered under his breath. She couldn’t see his face in the dark, but she assumed it was the awkward, kind-of-annoyed-but-mostly-confused expression he wore when she refused to let him get away with his evasiveness. Besides, it was like three in the morning, an hour made for baring your soul. “It’s just that…there’re so many sounds and smells out here that I’m not used to. Even when I _know_ nothing’s a threat, even though I know no one’s out there who needs help…it still feels like I might be missing something.”

“Was it hard for you to fall asleep?” she asked sympathetically.

“No, that part was fine.”

“Why?”

His face in the distant starlight was sheepish. “I was holding you.”

She wasn’t sure if he meant that holding her was soothing because he felt like nothing could happen to her as long as she was with him or because he saw her as a giant teddy bear. Both, she decided without asking. He meant both.

 

She woke to the chill of dawn and the smell of eggs. After a brief moment of disorientation, her brain put the natural quiet together with the cool air and the slope of the tent above her. Right. She wasn’t home.

Reaching for something else to put on over her pajamas, she found one of Matt’s sweatshirts. Perfect. Snuggling into it, she slipped on her shoes. Outside, she saw Matt cross-legged by a new fire fire with a pan balanced over the fire, occasionally poking the eggs with a spatula.

She padded over to join him. “You didn’t have to do this,” she said in a hushed voice, since it was still early enough that anything louder felt disrespectful to the forest.

He tugged on her sleeve. “Isn’t this mine?” he whispered back.

She sat down beside him. “You can’t prove that.”

“It’s too big for you.”

“Objection.”

“On what grounds?” he challenged softly.

“On the grounds that you like me wearing it.”

Grinning, he tilted his head. Another guy might look her up and down, but she knew Matt was appreciating her in his own way, appreciating how the oversized shirt hung on her body and enveloped her in his scent. The thought made her heartrate quicken, and the way his eyes gleamed told her he’d noticed. “I do like you wearing it,” he admitted, pulling her closer, “but I’m not opposed to you taking it off, either.”

“Um, no, it’s freezing.”

“That’s what the fire’s for.”

“You did a good job, by the way.” He probably should’ve spaced the logs out a bit farther to give the fire more room to grow, but other than that it was in good shape.

He flashed her a cocky grin.

“Not _that_ good a job.”

“Your heartbeat stayed steady.”

She kind of loved the fact that he no longer apologized for what he sensed, not with her and not with Foggy. It was like they really were finally moving forward.

“So what’s on the agenda today?” he asked.

She scooped the eggs onto two plates. “We’ve got a couple options. We could do any of the stuff we did yesterday. We could also try hiking, fishing—” She faltered at the face he made. “What, you don’t like fishing?”

“I’m thinking it wouldn’t smell…great.”

“I can do all the messy stuff,” she pointed out.

“Yeah, you can’t really limit scent to one place like that.”

Fair point. “So we could also go into town, or…” Her eyes narrowed mischievously. “Or I could introduce you to my childhood best friends.”

He looked understandably skeptical. “In the middle of nowhere?”

“Well,” she said seriously. “It’s not the middle of nowhere to them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up: Matt meets chipmunks!


	9. Disney Princess

She directed him to a relatively open part of the campsite, clearing away as much underbrush as she could. “Watch and learn.”

“How about I just do the learning part,” he said dryly.

The lovely thing about working at Nelson and Murdock was that it had completely desensitized her to his awful blind jokes. Unfortunately, that fact did not dissuade him from telling them. Rolling her eyes, she maneuvered him into a relatively clear patch of ground. “Now sit.”

“I’m not a dog,” he reminded her as he sat.

“Stay,” she commanded, unable to resist. His wrist flicked and she let out a yelp as a flying twig caught in her hair. Tugging it out, she stuck it properly behind her ear and grabbed the bag of peanuts from on top of one of the coolers. Next she began the crucial process of pacing in a circle around Matt, tossing a few peanuts into the undergrowth, scattering more and more in concentric rings with him at the epicenter. Then she sat down across from him. “Hold out your hand,” she ordered, pouring more peanuts into his palm when he obeyed, then pouring a few into her own hand and finally setting the bag on the ground between them.

His lips were twitching with amusement. “Are we…summoning a demon?”

“Nope.” She set her phone down beside her. Just in case.

“Feels like we’re summoning a demon.”

“Shh. You’ll see.”

“Not likely.”

He was the actual worst. “Shut up or they’ll never come.”

“Oh,” he said knowingly. “Fairies.”

“ _Shh_. Pretend you’re meditating.”

He fell silent. For all she knew, he _was_ meditating. She’d have to ask if it was easier or harder out here. She couldn’t think of anything more soothing than the faint wind blowing the ends of her hair, the slight groan of trees swaying, the smell of pine.

“Oh,” he whispered suddenly, eyes widening.

“What?”

It was his turn to hush her, canting his head towards the undergrowth to their left. She turned her head the same direction, following his line of sight (ha), but whatever he was sensing was still too deep in the forest to be seen.

A minute or so later, she heard rustling. Could’ve been the wind, but the sound was just a bit too short. She held her breath while at the same time telling herself to stay patient. This _was_ the middle of nowhere, and these chipmunks were definitely not used to humans.

But they probably weren’t used to peanuts either, and judging by the rustling to the left and also behind her (rapid, staccato movements through the foliage), she figured the new scent was particularly intriguing.

Matt’s head suddenly turned in the opposite direction. Shamelessly using him as her radar, she squinted to see what he was picking up on. Moments later, a tiny shape took the brave step out of the undergrowth and into the open. There was a peanut on the ground just a few inches away; it darted out, stuffed the peanut in its cheeks, and vanished again.

“Did you see that?” he asked, hushed and excited at the same time.

“Did you?” She wondered how chipmunks appeared to his senses. Slight body heat, rapid heartbeats, tiny claws skittering on wood? She lowered the hand that was filled with peanuts until the back of her hand was pressed to the ground. After a second, Matt mimicked her.

For about half an hour, the chipmunks inched closer, filling their cheeks with peanuts one by one and taking off to deposit them elsewhere. Whether they were all communicating amongst themselves or were independently drawn by the scent, their number kept increasing. She counted five at once, then seven, then ten chipmunks stealthily approaching from all sides.

Matt was sitting rigidly in place, his wide eyes flickering around like he was trying to pinpoint each chipmunk’s ever-changing location.

One brave soul inched within arm’s length of Karen, then froze, picking up on some kind of signal. Karen hadn’t moved and had no idea what startled it, but its tense little body reminded her of a certain someone else. Then it was moving again, stealing a peanut from right beside her shoe before scuttling off, its striped tail sticking up in the air.

After that, the other chipmunks seemed to find their courage, emerging from the safer shadows of the foliage, targeting the peanuts Karen had scattered like miniature treat-seeking missiles. They moved in closer until Karen could see their tiny black eyes taking in the world and their whiskers twitching. One that was maybe less hungry or more curious than its companions paused next to her shoe, sniffing the laces. Another ran around behind her and she barely managed to keep from flinching when she felt a chipmunk nosing at the waistband of her jeans, whiskers poking the skin of her back where her shirt had ridden up.

Matt didn’t flinch at all, even when one of the chipmunks circled his hand close enough that she knew the whiskers were brushing his skin, even when another chipmunk got up the courage to climb onto his shoe. Apparently, it immediately regretted its decision, because it took off again without warning. But the one by his hand seemed determined to get to the peanuts he was holding.

And suddenly, there it was. A tiny paw resting tentatively on the edge of Matt’s hand. Then, faster than she could blink, the chipmunk sprang into his palm, stuffed two peanuts into its cheeks, and disappeared again.

Matt looked _delighted_. “Karen,” he hissed. “Did you see—”

“ _Shh_.” The chipmunk investigating her shoes sprinted away at the sound of his voice. She wished he could see her glaring…except it was hard to maintain a glare as he hopefully held out his hand for more peanuts.

His obvious excitement was impossible to resist. Leaning forward, she poured more peanuts into his hand even though it scared off another chipmunk snacking under her knee. Then she sat back to drink in the sight. He was sitting there with an expression of boyish joy, his hair a ruffled mess and dirtier than Karen had ever seen him (at least, without blood and injuries added to the mix), with a small army of chipmunks darting around him. Two were nosing around Matt’s thigh, clearly very interested in the quality of his jeans. A different chipmunk jumped onto his hand, stole some peanuts, and ran away again.

But another popped out from the undergrowth to the left and dashed straight for Matt. It must’ve been the same one that was first brave enough to actually take a peanut from his hand because it seemed to have established that Matt was not a threat and was, in fact, a Friendly Provider of Delicious Treats. It hopped straight into his hand.

Matt was holding so still that he might as well have been a statue.

This time, the chipmunk didn’t stuff its face and immediately take off. Instead, it settled on its haunches, taking its time to eat each peanut individually, blinking rapidly in the sunlight. Holding her breath, Karen reached for her phone, swiped for the camera, and stole a picture just as one of the chipmunks by his leg jumped up onto his knee.

She’d send it to Foggy later with the caption _Disney Princess_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My family used to bring two bottles of peanuts whenever we went camping. One was exclusively for chipmunks.


	10. Sunsets

Aside from another brief excursion with the frisbee, they spend the day being lazy. He couldn’t possibly be tired, not with how much he usually ran around and how little he usually slept, so maybe they were just both thinking the same thing: time would pass more slowly if they lazed the day away than if they filled it up with activity. They wandered through the forest (she identified different kinds of animal scat and he wanted to know why anyone could possibly care), made sand castles by the beach (he was unfairly good at that, building complex infrastructure by touch that looked like it should fall over but didn’t), and went back to the campsite where she made him lie down on the ground so she could dot peanuts all over his back. Then she curled up in the chair, quizzing him on his senses. Could he sense individual leaves on the trees, or just clusters? Back home, how much of his parkour abilities depended on his senses as opposed to his familiarity with his city? What was it like when he dreamed?

He answered all her questions like a champ, and eventually the chipmunks who’d returned stopped being frightened off by the rumble in his voice so that he could lie flat on his stomach with one or two perched between his shoulder blades or in the curve of his spine, taking their time with their peanuts while he explained which parts of the city were his favorite and why.

Foggy texted her back to let her know he was trying to special-order a demon chipmunk stuffed animal to keep at the office.

After dinner (smoky hamburgers; she ate the bun that she accidentally burned trying to toast it), however, he confronted her as she was adding more wood to the fire before it could die out. “I just have a question,” he said, rubbing his fingers together in that nervous tic of his. “How do people, uh…clean up?”

He couldn’t be talking about trash, since they’d been burning the paper products and keeping the rest of it in bags to take home. Oh, not a nervous tic, then. He was probably feeling all the dirt and sweat and general stickiness on his hands.

 “I mean, there aren’t really showers around here,” he went on, “and the lake is nice, but also…not clean.”

She studied him with fresh eyes, taking in the smudges of dirt on his face and arms. “I figured we’d just shower when we got home.”

His looked horrified. “What, tomorrow?”

She burst out giggling. “Oh my gosh, is this the first time you’ve ever been dirty for more than twenty-four hours?”

“A _building_ fell on me, Karen,” he retorted, visibly affronted. “I was definitely not clean.”

“You weren’t conscious, either.” She licked her thumb to rub at his cheek, laughing harder when he ducked indignantly away. “You just have to get used to it.”

“Easy for you to say. I can feel all the dirt gluing itself on my skin.”

She wrinkled her nose. Fortunately for him, however, she’d anticipated that something like this might happen. “I brought baby wipes.”

He now looked both shocked and thoroughly offended. “Baby wipes?”

“Baby wipes,” she repeated in a solemn voice.

Throwing his head back, he exhaled loudly. “I can’t believe you.”

“It’s called a monkey bath. You just wipe yourself down.”

“No. I refuse.”

“Suit yourself,” she said primly.

Grumbling under his breath, he took one of the wipes and rubbed it over the skin of his arm. His face wrinkled in displeasure. “It stings.”

She would’ve called it a tingle, but for him, whatever chemicals (alcohol? Chloride?) were in the wipes probably _did_ sting. She felt a flash of sympathy, but didn’t want to further offend his sensibilities by pitying him. She focused on the fire for a bit, only paying attention to him again when he slumped down beside her, kicking up a cloud of dust to undo whatever progress he’d made with the wipes. “Better?” she asked anyway.

“Now I smell weird.”

She bit her lip to keep her smile under control. It wasn’t a big deal, obviously. He was definitely still enjoying himself, as particularly evidenced by the way he rested his chin on her shoulder, nuzzling his face in her hair while his fingers fiddled idly with the hem of her sweatshirt. But it was a reminder of how far out of his comfort zone he was going for her. He didn’t _have_ memories of camping with family to think about; he was used to filtered water from a fridge and organic food with zero preservatives and silk sheets.

Not that his life was soft. She swiped her thumb over his permanently-scarred knuckles. Not even close to soft. But for him, at least it was familiar.

She used her other hand to stir the fire, watching orange and yellow sparks pop and drift up to the darkening sky that had turned a fuzzy lavender-gray above the spiky tips of the trees. The fact that he’d put all of this together for her, just for her, made her heart fill up with some warm mix of emotions that, for once, she didn’t care to parse out and analyze.

She turned her eyes to the west. The sun had sunk behind distant mountains, but the sky in that direction was smeared in brushstrokes of brilliant gold and magenta streaks. “I wish you could see the sunset right now,” she murmured.

He sighed into her shoulder. “I wouldn’t make the trade.”

His voice had slipped into that sorta-asleep, sorta-drunk, mostly-blissed-out voice he sometimes used after sex. Her toes curled in her boots. “Yeah?”

“I can hear the waves in the lake lapping at the beach. Slow, peaceful.” She felt him smile against her shoulder. “Your breathing matches it.”

That made her laugh. “I’m breathing like a _lake?_ ”

“Shh, I said it was peaceful.” He waited until she calmed down, leaning her weight against him, before continuing. “And all the other sounds you’re making.”

“If you’re about to start talking about anything other than my heartbeat, you can stop right now.” She did _not_ want to think about what her digestive system was telling him right now.

“Okay, okay. It’s nice, though,” he insisted. “All the small sounds that tell me you’re alive. And the _smell_ of you…”

“I can’t possibly smell good to you right now.”

“That’s the thing about scent,” he said thoughtfully, shifting to put his arms around her waist; with her back pressed to his chest, she could feel his voice before she even heard it. “I guess, yeah, you technically smell _better_ coming out of the shower. But right now, you smell more like…you. And layered under the scents of pine and smoke…it’s good.” His head dipped so he could nose along the line of her throat. “It’s a new version of you.”


	11. For Both of Us

Time always took on a different meaning in the forest, but time simply _stopped_ at night. The dark sky glittered with ageless stars. Knowing they’d have to leave tomorrow, Karen wanted to never stop existing in this separate reality.

Matt’s arms tightened around her. “You warm enough?”

Well, he was _radiating_ body heat, and the fire wasn’t too bad either. Her nose was cold, but she actually liked the contrast. She nodded contentedly.

“Good.” He paused. “What were your family vacations like?”

Closing her eyes, she breathed in the smoke mixing with his distinct scent, which was just a bit stronger than usual. Back at Josie’s, before their first kiss and their first date and everything else that went wrong, he’d asked about her brother and it had meant so much to tell him…except that she’d answered in the present tense, knowing that talking about what Kevin _used to be like_ would invite questions. It had felt like a lie even as she was telling the truth.

But now Matt knew and they’d never have to talk about…that part…again.

“They were good,” she said quietly. “It was always nice to get away from the pressure diner for a while, you know?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, like he was supposed to.

She settled against him like he was her pillow. “And it was like…we all had these weird quirks that just got amplified on vacations. I dunno why. Like, Mom got really goofy. Like, _really_ goofy. And Dad turned into, this sort of…extreme Dad-mode. He’d get super intense about teaching me all these random life skills that I swear aren’t even useful.”

He rested his chin on the top of her head so she could feel his voice rumbling through them both. “Like what?”

“Like how to make that stupid log cabin campfire.”

“I thought that was highly useful, actually.”

“Or how to tell the difference between types of animal scat.”

He huffed quietly in amusement. “Are you telling me you _don’t_ use that in your daily life?”

“Not so far, no.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then he asked, “What about Kevin?”

She remembered Josie’s and his hand on her arm, his face upturned attentively despite the glasses that shielded his eyes. She remembered _What was your brother like?_ and thinking that the man sitting across from her, with his handsome smile and his bleeding heart and his Catholic convictions, would never want her if he knew the truth.

She opened her eyes to stare up at the stars. Timeless. The same stars that she and Kevin used to count. “He was so _happy_ out here. He never stopped moving until he crashed at night. Literally, I remember one time he tried to eat a hot dog and climb up this really big rock at the same time, and he dropped his hot dog on himself and got mustard all over his pants.” She laughed quietly. “And his only other pair of pants was dirty because he got all this sticky sap on it from climbing trees, so he had to walk around with mustard on his pants. But it was like…it was like he was free out here.” Her eyes were watering, and not from the smoke.

Matt hummed softly in her ear. “I wish I could’ve known him.”

“Yeah,” she said softly. And…she hadn’t come here to say goodbye to Mom, or Kevin, or all those memories of what family should be like. But everything that happened with Fisk just dug her most precious memories back up with no regard for their sanctity. And with all the chaos, she’d had no choice but to bury them as soon as she could.

Burying, however, was not the same thing as saying goodbye. And in this moment, it felt right…and almost easy. She could finally keep the memories while releasing the pain. Tilting her head back slightly, she found the brightest star in the sky and whispered her goodbyes.

Matt heard her. Of course he did. But he didn’t interrupt; he simply held her closer. Then he made a low, startled sound when she turned so her lips could find his as she chose to focus not on what she’d lost but on the one she’d found.

 

She woke up drenched in sweat and quickly realized why. She had no idea what time it was, but the sun was up and shining on the tent, turning it into a greenhouse. To make things worse (or better), Matt was pressed against her with his excessive body heat.

Carefully, she peeled the sleeping bag away from her skin and shimmied out of her cocoon, a bit annoyed that she was probably just as eager for a shower now as Matt was. But then she looked at him and felt all her annoyance vanish.

He was sprawled on his stomach, face pressed into his pillow and so deeply asleep that he hadn’t stirred at all despite her movement. It occurred to her, suddenly, that this was the first time he’d slept in since they’d started spending nights together. The fact that _she’d_ slept through that moment right at dawn when all the birds exploded into a cacophony didn’t surprise her, but the fact that _he’d_ slept through it—or else fallen back asleep after waking up—said a lot about how exhausted he really was.

Well, nothing in the world was gonna wake him up before he was ready, not if she could help it. Pulling on her shoes, she slipped outside, leaving the tent unzipped so cooler air could filter in before he woke up from the heat.

At least his sleepiness might give her time to surprise him with breakfast. She started a fire with the last of the firewood she’d gathered and, while it was warming up, poured pancake mix and water into a bowl. It wasn’t the best recipe for pancakes in the world, but there really was something about eating food cooked over a campfire that made you forgive the imperfections. Besides, she filled the batter with chocolate chips and planned on using lots of butter, so she thought it would balance out.

And if he disapproved of all the carbs, well, he could eat his sad little protein bars.

She was just scooping the first batch of pancakes onto a paper plate when she heard a loud _thump_ from inside the tent.

“Morning,” she murmured.

He came stumbling out through the flap, hair ruffled, fighting his way out of his long-sleeved shirt. Trying to, at least; he was kind of tangled up in the twisted fabric. “What time is it?”

“Why? You got somewhere to be?”

He squinted blearily in her direction. “No?” It sounded like a question.

“No,” she confirmed. “Relax. Sit down before you strangle yourself.”

He unerringly found the nearest chair and sank into it, now reaching behind his head to pull off the shirt in one smoother motion so he could cool off in the t-shirt beneath it. “I hate sleeping in,” he grumbled.

She felt a stab of guilt. “Sorry. I thought you’d appreciate it.” And he’d just looked so blissfully peaceful.

“Oh, uh, no, it’s fine. It was nice,” he added in more of a mumble. “Now I just have to…” He shook his head, almost like he had water in his ears or something. “Adjust.”

Privately, she was still convinced that he’d only slept that long because he’d needed it. She took a moment to study him. No blood on his face, no fresh cuts. And she might be imagining it, but it looked like there was more color in his cheeks, too. Maybe he was overheated, or maybe he actually felt less like a soldier or a lone watchman and more like a _human_.

Maybe they’d both needed this. “Well, I made pancakes.”

Grinning, he raised his eyebrows. “That can’t be right.”

“No, seriously, try one.” She held out the paper plate. “They’re really good.”

“They smell weird.”

“Try it before you judge,” she ordered.

Raising one hand in surrender, he used the other to pluck the first pancake off the pile. He took a bite and swallowed quickly. “Geeze, Karen, this is fifty percent chocolate.”

“Yeah, and it’s delicious. You’re welcome.”

“It’s _dessert_.”

“Dessert for breakfast.”

He gave a longsuffering sigh, but politely took another bite.

Smiling to herself, she set the plate by his chair and tossed one of his protein bars at him. “Eat your health sticks if it makes you feel better.”

“Aw, thanks.”

She returned to the fire to poke at the next batch of pancakes. “So, what do you wanna do today?”

“Frisbee?” he asked hopefully.

“We can do that.”

“Chipmunks?”

“We can definitely do that.”

A brazen look stole into his eyes. “The lake? One last time?”

“Hmm, I dunno,” she said, pretending to think about it. “We’ll smell like the lake for the whole car ride back. Either that, or we’ll have to use the baby wipes again, so…”

“It’s worth it,” he said hurriedly, and flushed slightly at his own enthusiasm.

That was Matt, simultaneously the cockiest guy she knew and utterly shy. Deciding she’d made enough pancakes for now, she left the fire alone and planted herself in his lap. The first time she kissed him, it was deep and slow, drawing it out until she felt it in her chest. The second, it was just a teasing peck on the lips. Then she pulled back.

He tried to chase her mouth with his, but she set her finger on his lips. “The lake sounds great.”

“You think?” he asked more quietly. “I got the impression that I enjoyed it a bit more than you did.”

Well, underwater was definitely not her favorite location for a makeout session. But she simply rested her forehead against his and picked up his hand, curling their fingers together and bringing the back of his hand up to rest against her cheek so he could feel her smile. “This trip is about making me happy, right?”

“Yeah,” he said uncertainly.

“So c’mon.” She stood up, keeping their hands interlocked.

“Karen.” His eyes were soft. “This trip is for you.”

She just shook her head. “I love you. Which means it’s for both of us.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, lovelies, this fic has been an absolute delight to write. I hope you enjoyed Karedevil in a new environment as much as I did, and thank you again for Ivorynia for suggesting it!

**Author's Note:**

> Come chatter with me on tumblr at https://www.tumblr.com/blog/ceterisparibus116/.


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